Key to My Freedom
by Vixen's Blood
Summary: Darkness engulfed the room... The pen skated over the untouched white surface leaving dark trails in its wake, not unlike the silent tears which left their cruel marks on their journey from bloodshot eyes to cheekbone... If you felt you have no other way


I don't own Beyblade… wish I did though… but I don't…It would be nice to own Kai and Rei wouldn't it… but I don't.

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Key to my freedom**

Darkness engulfed the room, the non-stop blare of New York life drifted in from the balcony and a large silver championship trophy glinted maliciously through the gloom.

Victory. It should be a time of celebration, merriment, but not for the figure hunched over the square of paper. The pen skated over the untouched white surface leaving dark trails in its wake, not unlike the silent tears which left their cruel marks on their journey from blood-shot eyes to cheekbone, finally to drop to the paper, pooling and mixing with the ink. He suddenly blinked; just noticing the moisture gracing his cheeks, he angrily ran his wrist across his face smudging the ever present face paint he usually hid behind.

_I'm tired of this. _

_Tired of this way of living, tired of the tournaments, tired of the press conferences, tired of the mindless screaming fans; I feel ensnared by it all. _

_Always the odd one surrounded by those happier than me, almost trapped. My team who found such joy from the sport, the competition, but me… this game sickens me now like a bitter taste at the back of my throat. _

_I'm haunted by this and the nightmares that beyblading brings to me of my past… the past that, moulded me painfully made me what I am._

_I've tried to change, fit in more with the group, but this manner that I have, this wall that pushes everyone away with a malicious glare or snide comment is too integral too my life; a mark burned into me as cattle is branded with a hot iron. _

_I need to rid myself of this mark, this way; I need to escape… and this is my key to freedom._

His left hand closed around the pistol resting in his pocket.

_I have to… _

The anticipation of the moment welled up within inside of him and as if this means were his only release, more crystal tears formed at is eyes.

His hand as though suddenly heavy, dropped the pen letting it roll away from him across the table. He looked down at the paper before him, the untidy scrawl marring the plain page with splashes of ink where his tears had fallen. A snarl escaped erupted from him and he angrily crumpled the sheet, throwing in away from himself. There was a sonorous tone and he realised the ball of paper had hit the trophy. He glared in the awards direction targeting his resentment at the object before almost dejectedly dropping his gaze to his lap where he grasped a small bit chip in his palm. It glowed, pulsing like the embers in a dying fire as though the spirit within were pleading with its master. A sad smile crept across his features as he slowly pressed the bit to his lips. The warmth spread through his lips shortly before he carefully put Dranzer down on the corner of the table.

Walking on stiff legs to the hallway, he looked down into the black lung that is the city if New York as it exhaled cold night air against his body. He leaned fully against the railing and the edge of the cold metal seemed to slice into his legs at mid-thigh. He pulled the glinting pistol from his pocket and the ominous click seemed to slit through the constant roar of the city as a bullet was loaded into the chamber.

Inhaling deeply, he pushed the barrel of the gun against his temple, cool metal cooling his clammy, hot head. His whole frame shook. More salty tears escaped the closed crimson robs. His heart hammered against his ribcage. His sweaty palm finger slipped around the trigger… and finally he squeezed his finger against it, a defeated sob bursting from his lips.

The blast was muffle by the tissue and bone as the angry steel penetrated his skull. A second of agony jolted through his body, a short sigh of release. His body gracefully slumped forward, gravity's force cruelly tugging the corpse over the black railing.

For a moment, the arms of the form were spread giving the illusion of a dark phoenix soaring in the freedom of flight; but this young phoenix would never again rise from the ashes of its own demise.

end.

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I've totally changed this because… well I don't know why… but… well I think its makes more sense to myself now… Sort of... Well not much actually makes sense to me… hmmm... I've confused myself now… 

Thank you _fallen phoenix of darkness _for your feed back which was really the incentive to change this fic!

So now if you would just press that little lilac button down there… go on, it'd make my day and possibly give me summin' that will improve my writing.


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